Tangled
by sphinx01
Summary: Jazz stumbles into the most unexpected relationship - with the Morphobots...
1. Capture

Author's Note: There is absolutely no justification for this story, except that it has been lurking in my mind for nearly half a year and that I very much wanted to finally write it down. It was originally meant to be a oneshot, but started to grow legs like a centipede, so I decided to post it in several chapters. I'm actually having a lot of fun writing this, and hope you will enjoy the reading!

Many thanks to my fellow author iratepirate for beta reading!

Warning: The following contains kidnapping, initial non-con, light bondage (more or less), tentacle erotica and a lot of smut. If you have problems with any of these, please do not read any further.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.

* * *

**Tangled**

**Part 1: Capture**

**xxx  
**

They needed more energy.

Barely a quarter of this planet's solar cycle had passed since they had devoured that swarm of robotic insects attacking them, and already they could feel their reserves beginning to dwindle again. Something had been wrong with those creatures; something that left their energy strangely weak and thin, without substance, almost like a poor copy of the real thing. And of the few scraps they were able to harvest, most had already been burned up again in their struggle to keep those annoying robots at bay.

If they didn't find another source of sustenance, and soon, they wouldn't make it much longer.

The robots - they had energy. And plenty, too, judging by how freely they spent it. They'd been trying to herd them together and out of their secluded valley for quite some time now, coming up with the most amusing ideas, and didn't appear the least bit exhausted.

If only they could get their tentacles on some of those resources... But they had no means of communicating with these mechs, and given the way they'd been acting towards them so far, chances that they might willingly support them could be safely assessed as remote.

Which basically left them with only one option.

Most of the robots could be ruled out from the start; they were too large, too sturdy or too heavily-armored. But among them were two that differed from this design. Their build types were a bit lighter, a touch sleeker; made for speed and stealth rather than pure physical strength, it seemed.

Yes, they would do. The little yellow one would be perfect, since he was the smaller of the pair, but he was standing too far away.

The black and white one it was, then.

A soft, involuntary whine escaped them when a dull ache began to suffuse their tentacles, reminding them quite sharply that they were running out of time.

If this was to happen, it had to happen now.

xxx

Something cool and sleek wound itself around Jazz' ankle joint.

With everything that was going on around him, he barely registered the touch at first, just shied away from it on coded instinct. His attention shifted only when, contrary to what his sensors expected, the unbidden entanglement stayed firmly in place. If anything, it became even tighter.

Perplexed, Jazz threw a quick glance at his feet - and in the astrosecond it took him to do so, another tentacle shot out of the surging mass of plants before him, catching hold of his outstretched arm and wrist.

"Woah!" Hydraulics clenched and unclenched in rapid succession as he strove to pull himself free, but the effort proved just as fruitless as the first time. Pit, those Morphobots were clingy, weren't they?

True to his Special Ops training, Jazz switched to Plan B. "Hey, guys, can someone lend me a ha-"

Both tendrils tightened around his limbs, and next thing he knew he was jerked forward so hard his equilibrium sensors could no longer compensate. He hit the ground hard, grunting in pain at the impact. For a brief moment, his visor actually fritzed out, leaving him with only white-grey static for input.

"Jazz!"

His vision cleared just in time for him to see Prowl flinging himself down next to him, grabbing his shoulder struts and hauling him away from his attackers with surprising ease. Both tentacles loosened at the sudden motion, and Jazz kicked his legs to dislodge the first one from his foot while the dark hands of Hound pried the second one away from his arm. The tracker grinned at him.

"Why, Jazz," he teased. "Didn't know you were into the old bondage game..."

Jazz brushed the last filaments off his limbs and retaliated with a playful bump of his energy field against Hound's. "Judging by your own standards, huh?"

Taking the hand Prowl offered him, he scrambled to his feet and ran a quick self-diagnostic scan. His photon rifle was lying several steps away, he noticed; the force of the impact must have jolted it out of his grip.

"Are you functional?" Prowl inquired.

Apart from some scratched paint and a slightly increased spark pulse rate, the data on Jazz' HUD indicated nothing out of the ordinary. He grinned at his comrades.

"Just fine. Ego's a bit dented, that's all."

The words had barely left his vocalizer when all of a sudden all hell broke loose.

Several dozen tentacles lashed out at once, filling the air like shrapnel after a violent explosion. The clawed ends collided heavily with Prowl's and Hound's chest plates, knocking them both clean off their feet so fast they didn't even have time to cry out. The unpleasant, grinding sound of sand on metal filled Jazz' audio receptors as his friends skidded several meters across the ground.

Strangely enough, he himself was not attacked.

At least not in the same way.

Instead of being flung through the air like a human rag doll, he was wrapped into a thick blanket of metallic tendrils from neck to hip, including his arms which were thus firmly captured at his sides. The Morphobots gave a collective hiss that sounded almost triumphant before their tentacles flexed and began to pull their captive towards them.

A flicker of fear pulsed through Jazz' spark then; real fear, not the pleasant jitters that tended to precede a new mission. Upon his arrival in the valley, Blaster had briefed him on what the Morphobots had done to the Insecticon clone army, and as much as he appreciated being rid of the bugs, he wasn't exactly keen on sharing their fate.

Planting his feet firmly against the ground, he leaned back as far as possible and poured all the strength he could muster into fighting the tendrils' insistent pull. Some stupid Insecticons might be one thing, but those crazy greens wouldn't get _him_ for a snack!

The alien plants hissed again, this time clearly in anger as Jazz actually managed to stop the forward movement. Had his arms been free, escaping would have been a piece of cake now, but they weren't, and the Morphobots quickly figured out the source of the problem.

Another tentacle took a well-aimed swipe at Jazz' legs, sending him to the ground again before the rest resumed dragging him forward, only at a much quicker pace this time.

Oh _scrap_.

Jazz struggled and squirmed as much as he could, the beginnings of genuine panic lending his efforts a fierceness he normally reserved for Decepticons, but to no avail. At his rear, he could hear his comrades shouting at the Morphobots and at each other, Prowl's half frustrated, half frightened cries of "Grab him!" and "Stop them!" sounding the loudest.

Poor Prowler, he thought fleetingly, and for no apparent reason. His friend would surely take this unhappy turn of events to spark...

The last thing he saw before a wall of silver tendrils closed over his head were the terrified faceplates of his fellow Autobots.

xxx

Despite all the shared elation they felt at their successful hunt, they could no longer deny that they had underestimated the physical strength of their prey. They might have managed to separate him from his comrades, but the black and white mech was kicking, bucking and thrashing with all the considerable power his sleek frame held, occasionally even snapping his dentae at some vinelets that came too close to his faceplates.

That wouldn't do, of course.

They tightened their embrace as much as was possible without denting his armor, slinging several more tentacles around his legs to keep him from thrusting his feet into their bodies. Other tendrils pinned the captive down to restrain his movements, and a smaller one twisted around his neck cables to keep his head in place. They preferred biting to being bitten, thank you very much.

The robot's struggles ceased immediately. He sagged into the tangle of their tendrils, his cooling fans cycling rapidly, but apart from the occasional shudder that passed through his frame, he lay utterly still.

Although this was exactly what they had been aiming for, the abruptness it happened with caught them off guard. In the heat of the moment, they hadn't even paused to consider how things were to proceed should the hunt be fortunate. So here they were, with this juicy bite right before their maws and utterly irresolute about what to do next.

Devouring a cybernetic organism as big and complex as this robot was out of the question. That method worked fine with insects and anything else of about that size, but they were simply not designed for a meal of such proportions. Besides, the fact that they were predators by nature didn't mean they took pleasure in inflicting pain on another creature just because they could. They hadn't hurt the other robots either - dented them a bit, perhaps, but nothing severe, mainly because none of the attacks these mechs had launched at them so far had posed a real threat. While certainly a major nuisance, they were all in all not an opponent to be reckoned with.

Their attention was drawn back to the delicious flow of electric energy pulsing beneath their captive's armor plating.

There had to be a way to enjoy this treat without having to crack the shell open.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Understanding

Author's Note: I'm very sorry it's taking me so long to get to the juicy bits, but I very much want to establish an understanding between Jazz and the Morphobots before they really get down to business. Besides, I'm a hell of a teaser and enjoy drawing things out ;-)

Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.

* * *

**Tangled**

**Part 2: Understanding**

**xxx  
**

Jazz abandoned all resistance the moment one of those tentacles wrapped around his neck cables. As a Special Ops mech, he'd been trained to stay calm and focused in situations where other bots would long since have lost it, and that training was so deeply ingrained into his source code that it easily managed to override the first ticks of panic once it kicked in.

Fighting wouldn't get him anywhere, that much was obvious. At best, he would end up hurting himself. In the worst case, it would provoke the Morphobots into hurting him, and he had absolutely no desire to find out what _that_ would be like.

Instead, he pulled a deep draught of air into his vents and willed his strained hydraulics to depressurize. The action caused him to sink even deeper into the tangled mass of tendrils and maws beneath him, but he registered no immediate response from his captors. Good. Some precious astroseconds more for him to find a way out of this literal tight spot.

He opened a comm. link on a general frequency, but quickly gave up any attempt to get through to his comrades. There was a strange interference in the line, probably caused by the Morphobots' bioelectrical field.

Well, never mind. The others would not be kicking their heels out there. All he had to do was to buy them as much time as possib-

A small vinelet curled around one of his sensor horns. He twitched at the unexpected touch, only slightly so, but the Morphobots clearly took notice and answered with a soft, rustling sound. The tentacles' tight embrace loosened to some extent; not enough for him to take advantage of, but it loosened nonetheless.

And then one tendril slipped in between the others and started to feel its way over Jazz' armor plating.

Jazz muted his vocalizer, dampened his pain receptors and braced himself for what he knew was coming. Primus, just let him hold out long enough...

To his immense surprise, the expected agony never came. Neither was his plating cracked open, nor were sensitive internal components ripped out and shredded to shards between alien jaws. The silvery appendage simply proceeded to glide over his frame, slow and almost gentle, touching each tiny spot on its way with meticulous care as if searching for something. Others had begun to join it; all across his body, Jazz' sensors reported to his CPU the soft tickling sensation of thin vinelets slithering over his armor.

He shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation and instinctively tried to shy away from the touches, confused and revolted, and yet at the same time increasingly curious. What on Earth and Cybertron did that pushy plant life have in mind? It did not seem their intention to harm him; they could long since have done so if they'd wanted. And Pit, they were coming across real sensitive places in their weird inspection, like the underside of his bumper, for example...

A crackle in his comm. system jerked his attention away from the Morphobots.

_'...-azz, d-... -ead? Jazz... -ear me?'_

He hastily tuned in on the frequency, trying to grab hold of the faint transmission. _'Prowl?'_

There was an unpleasant, high-pitched whistle in the line, but then Prowl's voice suddenly sounded much clearer.

_'Jazz, thank Primus! Are you fully operational?'_

Jazz glanced down at the tendrils that kept exploring his chassis. One of them was just ghosting over his right headlight, and his intakes hitched slightly at the soft tingle this caused.

'_Jazz? Were you damaged?'_

_'No, no,' _he said quickly._ 'Prowl, listen: Try not to torque them off, okay? I don't know what's going on here, but they haven't hurt me yet, and I'd rather it stay that way, y' know.'_

There was a moment of silence as Prowl presumably fed this new information to his tactical subroutines.

_'Alright,'_ he said. _'We're working on a strategy. Blaster is on his way here, but Jazz - I'm not taking any risks, do you hear me?'_

Jazz did his best to ignore the tentacle around his sensor horn which had started to gently tug at the sensitive appendage as if to see what might happen. _'Gotcha,'_ he said.

Another moment of quiet ensued, then Prowl spoke again, very softly this time. _'Just hang on, Jazz. We're not leaving you. Prowl out.'_

He cut the transmission without waiting for an answer, but Jazz felt a tiny smile pull at his lips. He knew their SIC would now be pouring all his computing performance into setting up a preferably non-violent plan for his rescue.

In the meantime, however, he had his own problems to deal with.

Some of those cheeky tentacles had detected one of the larger transformation seams in his side, right were his hip joined his abdominal plating. He tensed at the contact, but that was pretty much everything the Morphobots gave him time for.

A strange sound, almost a purr, emitted from deep within the plants, drowning out Jazz' shocked gasp as the first of the silvery appendages slipped under his armor plates.

xxx

Ah, this was it.

A small gap where two parts of the bicolored armor plating met, just wide enough for one of their stronger vinelets to fit through. The energy flow was potent here, hot and pulsating and so deliciously close. Their soon-to-be donor had tensed again, a shudder running through his frame, but their grip still prevented him from struggling. All they had to do was latch on to the wires inside and soak up as much of the precious electricity as possible...

A stroke of lightning crashed into their systems, a stream of liquid fire so intense it _hurt_. An agonized scream was torn from their maws as the pain rushed through their shared bodies and mind, leaving every muscle raw and twitching. They jerked away from the source of the discomfort, and only dimly registered their captive spasming beneath them, giving an equally pained cry as their claws wrenched away from his wires.

They sagged, shaking themselves in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable tremors that only served to increase the ache of the energy depletion. The black and white mech was pulling deep draughts of air into his ventilation system, his blue optic band glowing brightly.

Hot, frantic anger surged up inside them, fueled by pain and frustration. How dare that piece of scrap metal resist them, completely and utterly at their mercy as he was? They could grind him to dust if they wanted to!

Their tentacles twitched in the overwhelming desire to simply cut loose, to just tear that little hellion limb from limb...

And yet, a small part of them was still hesitating. Among all the raging emotions, there was a tiny little voice whispering to them that this short circuit had most likely not been a defensive reaction from their prey. It had hurt him, too, judging by his response, and a closer look at the small amount of energy they had been able to harvest quickly made it clear what had happened.

The respective patterns of their energy frequencies were not incompatible, but obviously dissimilar to a degree that had to make a direct transmission complicated - and, apparently, painful. Since they both stemmed from totally different worlds, that shouldn't be a great surprise, but in their haste to get what they wanted, they had clearly failed to make allowances for this issue.

They calculated quickly. Their energy levels were getting dangerously low, and their captive's comrades were undoubtedly bound to try a rescue maneuver sooner or later. What they needed to do, and fast, was to bring both their frequencies into enough of a harmony to enable a sufficient transfer.

Slipping their tendrils back inside, they took hold of the wires again and started to transmit a series of slow, low-current energy pulses, basic enough for pretty much every electronic system to tune in to and synchronize with. They'd used this technique before for various purposes, and it normally worked out pretty well.

What they hadn't reckoned with was that their stock-still prey would suddenly burst into motion.

Too late did they realize that, in their shock and pain, they had inadvertently loosened their grip on him. It was only ever so slightly, but he was taking advantage of it in every way he could. He bucked so hard he almost ripped a couple of tentacles out of their joints, tried to kick at them with both feet, tried to roll onto his front and very nearly succeeded in burying his dentae in a bundle of delicate vinelets.

"Get _outta_ there, you sick fraggers!" he hissed.

Even if they didn't understand the words, the message was more than clear, and a cold, numbing fear began to take hold of them. No, no, this couldn't be happening... they had neither the time nor the energy left for another hunt; if he managed to escape now, that would be their death warrant...

They threw themselves onto their captive with a strength born of desperation, clamping down on him with everything they had while their claws locked on to his wires in a vague hope that their refusal to let go might make him rethink his intentions.

'_No... please... not fight... energy... need... last chance... please...'_

Snippets of thoughts and emotions tumbled through their shared mind, a frenzied stream pouring into the synchronizing frequency they were still transmitting. If only they could explain, could make him understand...

This fight had to end, and soon. If not...

They clung just a little bit tighter.

xxx

Jazz was beginning to tire.

Fighting the Morphobots was like trying to catch smoke in one's bare hand: For every tentacle he managed to escape, three others would appear and take the first one's place. And to make things worse, those obnoxious vines were still stubbornly trying to invade his personal energy network, a connection much too intimate to be tolerated. Connecting yourself to some external hardware to download data was one thing; that was perfectly okay and generally accepted. But to grant another sentient being access to your inner circuitry was a completely different matter, something usually reserved for either medical emergencies or as a way to share pleasure with a lover.

Jazz was pretty sure that none of those scenarios applied to his current situation.

In lack of a better defense, he diverted as much power as possible to his anti-virus programs, bolstering any suitable firewall to block the strange frequencies his attackers kept feeding him.

And promptly, as if the Morphobots had read his processor, the transmission pulses became notably stronger, their intervals shorter.

He shuddered at the sensation, but to his own dismay not completely in revulsion. Those frequencies, alien as they were, were also simple enough for his own to adjust to them without much effort, and that in turn rendered the sensation surprisingly pleasant, almost like a caress...

What the Pit was taking Prowl so long?

He was about to try and open the comm. link again when he suddenly noticed the change.

Not only had the pulses become more intense, but there was also a strange kind of urgency in them now. The Morphobots closed in on him, tightening their hold, but Jazz quickly became aware of the small, erratic jerks that traveled up and down their tendrils. The alien plants gave a low, keening sound, and another wave of their foreign energy crashed against his firewalls, fierce and almost desperate this time.

And with that last surge came a totally novel set of information, a sort of data that had not been there before and that bore a disturbing resemblance to _emotions_. Was that... fear Jazz was sensing in the transmission? Pain? A raw and frantic need for something he couldn't define?

For a moment he lay utterly still, dumbfounded. Could it be that, as the Morphobots had snatched him away from his friends, had tied him up, held him down and shamelessly molested him, that they had been trying to _communicate_?

It was an unwritten Autobot law that, if an enemy wished to negotiate, they should be listened to, regardless of faction or species. It was also an unwritten Autobot law that an SOS was to be answered, if possible.

Consequently, if this weird alien plant life wanted to talk, Jazz was bound by duty and by his honor as an Autobot officer to at least try to get into contact with them.

Not to mention that he was Pit-spawned curious by now.

It was one of Prowl's favorite sayings that when Primus had granted adventurousness to his creations, Jazz had probably been the first to step forward. So, living up to his reputation, Jazz decided to hazard a little experiment.

He cycled his vents slowly, and then cautiously lowered the first layer of his firewalls.

The Morphobots' reaction was clearly one of surprise. The energy transmission faltered, and a soft, rustling sound came from amidst the tangled vines. Some tendrils straightened and bent their claws as if to look down at him, but made no move to attack. They appeared wary, Jazz thought, but not aggressive.

He ventured a tiny smile.

"Hey there, gang," he whispered gently. "Designation's Jazz. Anything I can be of help with?" He wasn't sure if the Morphobots were capable of common Cybertronian, or of any language for that matter, but he figured that if he was going to have a chat with some alien plants, he might as well do it properly.

A tense moment of silence followed. The tendrils swayed gently from side to side, and Jazz had he distinct impression that they were debating among themselves what to make of this sudden turn of events. Granted, his behavior towards them so far did not exactly speak in his favor.

It stood to reason, he concluded, that if he wanted to succeed with this strategy, he would have to prove his good will.

Ignoring the heavy pulsing of his spark, he dialed down his defense system and then deactivated the remaining firewalls. About a handful was kept in place to protect his core programming and most private memory files, but the better part of his energy network was now effectively laid bare for the invaders to play havoc with it if they so chose.

The Morphobots chirred softly. Jazz pulled a deep draught of air into his vents and readied himself for the swift and relentless intrusion he was undoubtedly in for.

What he received instead was a single, firm frequency pulse, so different from what he'd expected that it took him completely by surprise. He pushed back out of pure reflex, sending a small amount of energy through his wires.

The Morphobots practically pounced on the tiny pulse, soaking it up with the voracious hunger of parched earth drinking the long-awaited rain. Jazz stared in fascination as the reason for his capture began to slowly dawn on his CPU.

"Is _that_ what you need? Energy?"

The silvery vines gently tugged at the wires they were still holding on to, and when he didn't react immediately, they started to transmit their foreign frequencies again, in deep, heavy pulses this time, all the while emitting a rich, purring sound as if to encourage him to repeat the action.

A flush of heat suffused Jazz' circuitry, leaving his intakes hitching and his limbs trembling in its wake. With his firewalls gone, the transmission streamed into his systems with contented ease, and his own frequencies adjusted in a matter of astroseconds. He let it happen, marveling at how natural it felt once he stopped fighting it. The Morphobots chirred again in obvious delight, and when they started to hungrily absorb the electric current from his lines, the loop between their individual systems was finally closed.

The carefully balanced energy flow sent a pleasurable tingle through Jazz' whole frame and had his cooling fans kick in with a soft snick, slowly at first but quickly picking up pace. A soft, involuntary moan escaped his vocalizer.

A small part of him was still horrified, still trying to figure out what was happening to him and if all this was even real or just some kind of weird processor glitch. The greater part, though, the one that was firmly connected to his Spec Ops programs, had already adapted to the situation and was now offering the most efficient course of action: The Morphobots did not mean to assault him in any way; he even doubted that they were aware of the effects their feeding had on him. All they'd been seeking was a source of nourishment, and Jazz certainly didn't mind sharing some energy as long as the process did not entail any immediate danger.

And if there was a bit of pleasure to be gained from the procedure, then why not welcome it? It had been a while since he'd last enjoyed an intimate connection, and the close contact to another system, even one so alien, felt very nice...

He cringed when his comm. system suddenly jumped to life again.

_'Jazz, this is Prowl. Do you read?'_

He actually fumbled for the line briefly before he managed to tune in to it. _'Roger, Prowl.'_

_'I have Blaster here with me now, Jazz. You still alright?'_

Some of the connected tendrils were resting on his abdominal plating so that Jazz could feel the gentle vibrations of their purring travel through his chassis. _'Yeah, yeah,'_ he replied quickly. _'I'm good.'_

_'We have locked on to your position,'_ Prowl informed him. _'I want you to keep this channel clear and remain calm until we've got you secured. We're going in now.'_

_'No!'_

Strange. The glyph seemed to have taken a shortcut, firmly turning its back on his higher CPU functions. A puzzled silence filled the comm. line.

_'What do you mean: No?'_ Prowl asked eventually, his tone somewhere between impatience and confusion.

Jazz cursed his hyperactive vocalizer as much as possible in view of the steadily building charge in his systems. _'There's... there's no need, Prowler, I've got things covered here. Think I've established some kind of... connection.'_ Oh, the irony...

_'What in Primus' name are you talking about?'_

The tendrils shifted slightly, moving wires and cables aside to make room for the slim, young vine that slipped in between them, probing deeper for more sensitive spots. Jazz fought to stifle a groan when his core temperature spiked in response, and briefly wondered if Prowl could hear the whirring of his cooling fans over the comm. link.

_'Please, Prowler, I can handle this. Just need a bit more time.'_

Oh yes, yes, just a little more, wouldn't take long...

_'Jazz,'_ Prowl said, his voice strained as he clearly spoke against his better judgment, _'you know I hold your proficiencies in the highest esteem, but if I get only the slightest impression that your safety might be compromised -'_

The Morphobots chose that moment to transmit a particularly heavy pulse, and Jazz gave up any pretense of speaking or even thinking coherently. He barely managed to fling a quick _'Thanks, Prowl; Jazz out'_ into the line before the connection crackled and died as the charge in him surged, turning all his hydraulics into water. He sank back into the plants' tangled embrace with a groan, trembling and carrying the vague hope that Prowl would find nothing wrong with his safety.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Unison

Author's Note: I'm awfully sorry this took so long, but writing decent smut while under heavy, job-related stress is something I find very hard, to say the least...

Author's Note 2: I've been in such a hurry to upload this I plain forgot to thank deceptichick and Claire for their reviews. Sorry, guys! My brain's not working at full capacity at the moment, but your feedback was of course most welcome!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.

* * *

**Tangled**

**Part 3: Unison**

**xxx**

Pure, untainted bliss coursed through their systems.

They had no idea what exactly had happened, but it seemed that somehow they had made their intentions clear to their captive: The robot had stopped struggling, had dropped his defenses and opened his circuits to them, and suddenly all that wonderful, warm, rich energy was pouring into them like a stream of fiery light.

Oh, they had almost forgotten what that felt like.

The first few pulses, smooth as they were, nearly choked them in their intensity, but they stubbornly held fast, and before long they managed to settle into a contented rhythm. The world began to fade as they filled themselves with that perfect, delicious richness, dissolving into a sweet oblivion where nothing existed but relief and joy and gratitude and nourishing warmth.

It took a while for the new sounds to finally penetrate that cozy haze.

The first one was familiar; the robot's cooling fans had switched on again and gave off a soft, whirring noise. The second, novel one came from his engine, they realized, which had started to emit short, gentle revs with each frequency pulse they sent him. It felt nice, actually, as the reverberations traveled up their tentacles and created a pleasant tingle throughout their bodies. Out of a simple reflex, they put a bit more force into their next pulse, seeking to intensify the sensation.

A full-body shiver accompanied the gasping moan that escaped the mech's vocalizer. His plating, already pleasantly warm, grew a touch hotter, and his fans began to cycle a bit faster.

Their energy reserves were nowhere near their optimum yet, but the worst hunger was assuaged enough for this new development to pique their interest. They were admittedly not very good at reading the emotional expressions of other life forms, but this one definitely did not give the impression of being in pain or frightened any longer. Though still wrapped tightly in their tentacles, he had even started to move slightly, a gentle, rocking motion concurrent with their energy pulses, and through their connection, they picked up the echo of a sensation that, though unknown to them, felt emphatically good...

Could it be that he was gaining _pleasure_ from their contact, just as they were gaining energy?

The thought was intriguing, to say the least. None of their prey had ever reacted to them like that - though granted, to get eaten alive probably wasn't a very enjoyable feeling. But this... what a wonderful new thing to explore and play with! Better still, it might even put them in a position to give something back to their donor in exchange for his service. Let nobody say that they didn't know how to clear their debts!

During their earlier inspection, they had already made out the occasional sensitive spot on that bicolored chassis, they recalled. Perhaps he would like to be touched in those places again?

Without stopping their feeding, they reached up with two strong vinelets to caress the black, horn-like appendages on the mech's head.

A heavy shudder passed through their captive's frame. He gave a deep, rumbling groan, and his backstruts formed a sensuous arc as he clearly tried to get closer to the touch, not away from it. The slow swipe of a tentacle across a white thigh was equally well received, eliciting a delicious shiver and a soft whine, while gentle flicks against his headlights resulted in a series of odd little pants.

A fierce sense of pride seized them out of nowhere as they watched, mesmerized, while their bicolored prey squirmed in obvious delight. It felt _good_, they decided, to know that _they_ were the source of so much pleasure.

A new movement caught their attention then. The mech had started to murmur softly; quiet, exotic sounds they still couldn't understand, but his voice was much kinder now, almost encouraging as he gently tried to maneuver his trapped arms out of their entwinement.

They hesitated. Could they afford the risk? But their hold on the rest of him remained firm; it should pose no trouble to restrain him again if necessary, especially now that they weren't so completely starved anymore.

Innate curiosity got the better of them. Their tendrils loosened, just enough for the robot to pull his right arm free.

His reaction, though immediate, was delightfully non-violent. The black hand began to leisurely trail upwards, pausing briefly at the juncture between hip and thigh, but soon moved further up to caress his abdominal plating. Which meant that it inevitably, but to their greatest surprise without hesitation, also stroked the thick bundle of tentacles they had slung around his midsection.

Oh... what a wonderful sensation, the touch of warm, living metal so much like their own... If all the robots could be persuaded to be so accommodating, they were not leaving this place anytime soon, and no mistake about it. And those nimble fingers didn't stop there, they continued to slide further up, teasing hairline seams in the smooth metal, and eventually slipped under the protrusion of his chest armor to gently rub and fondle its underside.

It seemed that the cabling down there was particularly receptive to touch, since the constant rumble of the mech's engine instantly crescendoed to a point where it nearly drowned out the soft moans and mewling sounds that spilled from his vocalizer. The charge in his electrical systems, only so mild at first, had increased considerably, teetering on the brink of something they couldn't name, but which they intuitively felt was big and good and very much _wanted_. His body had tensed in their embrace, his fluent, undulating movements turned into jerky twitches as he gasped and arched against them. Oh, he was gorgeous... never before had they seen, or heard, or felt something so beautiful.

Another slow frequency pulse, and he practically sobbed in what sounded like near-desperation. The noise stirred something deep inside them, and in a sudden, strange desire to help they extended several slim vines and let them slip into the smaller gaps between his armor plates, caressing the delicate wiring they found there.

A lightning storm of energy exploded across their connected systems, so powerful and unexpected it threatened to knock them unconscious. They reared up with an involuntary cry, tentacles twitching and jerking helplessly as the incredible energy surge jumped from body to body, hot and tingling and pleasant in a way that _hurt_. The black and white robot beneath them trembled and moaned, but they barely took notice of him anymore. Too intense was the jumble of sensations that overwhelmed all their senses, swept them away like an irresistible flood and left nothing but heat and pleasure in its wake.

As ecstatic as the feeling was, though, it did not last very long. Which was probably a good thing, because otherwise, they might simply have dropped dead from the raw force of the experience. Still, as the sensation started to fade away, it was kind enough to leave behind a gentle, throbbing warmth, a heavy yet pleasurable weariness that spread through their bodies into the very tips of their tendrils, and they gave in to the temptation without a second thought, sinking down to rest on their captive's warm armor plates.

The tension had left his frame, they noticed. Only quiet little shudders traveled through the black and white metal while his cooling fans slowly cycled down. His optic band was offline, but when they nestled some vines up against him, seeking more contact, his free hand came up and started to lovingly pet and stroke as much of the metallic appendages as it was able to reach.

Never, never in their existence had they been touched with so much affection. They pressed into the caress, purring and chirring in utter contentment almost louder than the robot's engine had been - until a realization hit them like a douse of cold water, unpleasant and disturbing.

They had achieved their goal of restoring their energy reserves. Now it was time to make good use of that energy. They needed to leave this valley, to find better shelter and, most importantly, a reliable source of nourishment. They'd need both if they meant to survive on this alien planet. Not to mention that it was high time, too. It came close to a miracle that the robot's companions hadn't yet tried to reclaim their friend. The quicker they set him free and retreated, the better.

Except that - they didn't want to.

The mech looked utterly delicious as he lay sprawled in their tangled vines, engine humming and limbs twitching slightly from what seemed to be little aftershocks traveling through his wires. The connection was still active, and they could have sworn that they sensed something akin to amused contentment echoing across the link.

They wanted more of him. More of that invigorating energy, more of those sweet moans and gasps, more of those loving caresses.

A quick glance across the valley told them that, surprisingly, the remainder of the robots had not moved. They stood in a clustered group, watching them tensely and, from time to time, conversing quietly among themselves, but their weapons were lowered, and they made no move to attack.

Perhaps... perhaps it would be safe to keep their price, just for a little while.

xxx

The Morphobots had not let go of him.

That was the first thought that tiptoed into Jazz' CPU as he gradually came down from the height of his overload. Strange... he'd been sure that he would be dropped and abandoned the moment the alien plants got what they wanted, but no. Their grip on his chassis remained firm, though not brutal anymore, and the energy connection had not been broken. They were also producing that sonorous, purring sound again that brought an involuntary smile to his faceplates. Strange, yes - but not unwelcome.

There was some light movement, and then several of the closer tentacles came sinking down to rest on his chest plates, like an exhausted lover might do. The action triggered a reflexive response in Jazz; his free hand rose and trailed gentle, invisible patterns over the warm metal. The tendrils instantly shifted closer, and he felt his spark glow with sudden emotion at this unexpected display of trust. How cute was that - they wanted to cuddle...

For a while they lay in content, almost companionable silence, and eventually, Jazz couldn't help but to inwardly laugh at himself. This was for sure the weirdest predicament he'd ever found himself in, and Primus below, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It might be attributable to the post-climactic bliss suffusing his processor, but while his fingers kept stroking and the Morphobots kept purring, the gentle glimmer of fondness in his spark had time to grow into a full-fledged burn of affection for these unusual suitors. How, pray tell, had he ever been afraid of those cuddly little guys? The thought seemed ridiculous.

The Morphobots began to stir, and he onlined his visor right when the tentacles began to withdraw, one by one, until only a couple remained wrapped around his thighs and upper arms, firm yet flexible. Three thick stalks held him tight around the middle, and a bundle of vines positioned itself conveniently underneath his head, almost like a pillow. The purpose of these actions became clear to Jazz when he felt their connection coming to life again with a small yet determined energy pulse. He laughed softly.

"What? Not sated yet?" he teased, and the rustling noise the metallic tendrils made in response sounded just like a chuckle.

Jazz knew from experience that he was perfectly capable of multiple overloads, provided that his partner was willing to give him appropriate stimulation. _These_ partners were definitely more than willing, if the gentle rhythm the energy pulses were once again falling into was anything to go by. He vented slowly, checking his HUD. Most of the warning messages had extinguished now, and his energy levels were at 91 percent; he had plenty more to share before he'd even begin to feel the effect. Also, it seemed that Prowl had seen fit to provide him with the time he'd requested, judging by how docile the Morphobots had been behaving this past breem.

The thought provoked a strange, uneasy sensation, a feeling of being _trapped_, torn between his sense of duty and the responsibility for his fellow soldiers on the one hand and the growing fondness for those alien creatures on the other. Shouldn't he at least apprisehis friend of what was going on, even at the risk of being reproached with fraternization (and Prowler probably blowing a fuse or two)?

Right at that instant, a delicate little vinelet brushed fleetingly against his faceplates. A random gesture, no doubt, but it made Jazz' spark swell in a way that, though intensely sensual, had nothing to do with physical lust.

With a groan, he reached into the silvery mass of tendrils, making good use of the relative freedom of his hands by randomly grabbing hold of the nearest vines, pulling them down and hugging them close. They came willingly, rubbing smoothly against his chest plates as he re-opened his electrical systems and sent an encouraging energy pulse through his wires. It was gladly taken, and they both uttered their own quiet sound of pleasure when the connection flared to life once more. Their systems synched again, a warm, contented buzz between them, and Jazz delighted in the pure ease of it. He nuzzled his face into the closest vines, breathing a gentle kiss onto the metal surface before he indulged in one of his favorite interfacing activities by giving it a short, playful lick.

The Morphobots cheeped in surprise, but they did not attempt to shy away from the touch. Jazz grinned to himself before he repeated the caress, enjoying the warm, metallic taste in his mouth. The tendrils in his grasp shivered deliciously when his glossa settled into a languid, easy rhythm, and for a while he lost himself in the deep intimacy of the act - until his botanical lovers decided to return the favor.

Dozens and dozens of gentle touches assaulted his sensor net in more different ways than he cared to distinguish. Some of the slimmer, more flexible vines slipped into his transformation seams, catapulting his core temperature into the red once more as they teased the delicate parts in there. Others had begun to systematically revisit the various hotspots on his chassis, stroking his sensor horns, circling his headlights and feeling over his bumper, his hip plates, the sensitive insides of his thighs. His engine revved hard of its own volition, but he did no longer care about any form of control. It felt too wonderful; all those soft, tentatively exploring touches mapping out his body as if to memorize it...

Jazz suddenly felt reminded of some of the younger lovers he'd had, those who had granted him the honor of being the first to share their berths. The Morphobots had much in common with them, he pondered: willing, yet shy, anxious, but still curious, still eager to please, discovering each new action and reaction with endearingly innocent wonder.

Again his spark surged with this odd combination of affection and protectiveness he couldn't explain. Lying with those young bots, it had always been his defined goal to make his partners feel cherished and cared for, to create a memory worth treasuring. Doing the same for the Morphobots didn't even require a conscious decision, though he wasn't too far gone yet to not be aware of his train of thoughts. There was simply no doubt, not for a moment, that this was what he wanted and needed to do.

With a hint of amusement, he realized that his hand was trembling slightly when he raised and offered it to his multi-armed partners. A young, tender vinelet curled around his fingers like a tiny Earth snake, showing no hesitation at all, and Jazz carefully stroked one finger along its slender length before he guided it down to his side and used his free hand to fold back the cover panel of one of his access ports.

"Here," he murmured, and a hint of static clouded his vocalizer. "Wanna try this?"

It was completely, totally and utterly crazy, and he could off the cuff name a dozen people who would probably have his head for taking such foolish risks. He had no fail-safes here; anything could happen, from a simple short-circuit to a system-wide stasis lock. But the vinelet was curiously prodding and examining the port now, and all Jazz could do was to smile down at the charming sight, his intakes hitching a bit at the teasing touches.

"C'mon," he encouraged. "Trust me; you'll like it."

And perhaps the Morphobots _did_ understand him, for the tiny claws pressed into the port with utmost caution, and then connected to the circuitry within with a soft click and a warm surge of electrical energy.

In an instant, any doubts Jazz might have had about the synchrony of their systems vanished. This kind of connection did not only transmit energy, but also allowed the participants to share all kinds of data. There was no conscious interaction yet, but he clearly sensed the presence of another mind skirting the edges of his processor, not teasing, just hovering expectantly. It took him a moment to get acquainted with the sensation of a consciousness that was so many, and yet one, so primeval, and still so much like his own. A message popped up on his HUD, informing him of an 'Unknown external hardware found'. He brushed it aside without a second thought, sending the command to accept the link.

'Unidentified type of connection. Transmission may contain malevolent software. Do you want to proceed?'

Jazz gave an agonized groan. Yes, dammit!

And finally that stubborn CPU of his complied, the program executing with a smoothness that belied all warnings. Their thoughts began to bleed into one another, a sensation so intimate it made both of them whimper. Jazz took the first step and carefully pushed a simple string of code into the newly established link, conveying his fondness, his care, and just how much he _wanted_ this.

The answer was a deep, consenting hum from among the plants, and then Jazz' mind and spark were swept away by a joyous tide of emotional input, tumbling in rapid succession through a spectrum of happiness, pleasure, gratitude, affection, trust, hope...

He trembled helplessly under the onslaught, barely aware of the moans and gasps spilling from his vocalizer. The Morphobots echoed him with soft, high-pitched chirrs, and Jazz' energy field flared and extended on coded instinct, wrapping them both in a cozy embrace as he strove to repay his partners with every last scrap of code he had to offer. Oh, Primus, he wouldn't last long; this was too good, too perfect, was ecstasy at its most beautiful.

_Yes, baby, yes... keep it coming... feels so good..._

His core temperature spiked, straining his cooling systems to maximum capacity, but there was no way he could care about that now. Renewed charge was crawling languidly over recently depolarized sensor nodes, drawing up to the inevitable peak far quicker than the Morphobots could absorb the energy. But this time he was able to relax and to let things happen, to experience the mounting pleasure in its entirety instead of with his overheating circuits only. The Morphobots were quickly getting the hang of things, their collective mind gliding around and against his with the same ease and confidence their tentacles were caressing his trembling frame with. One vinelet grazed his lips, and Jazz happily complied with the unspoken request, using his glossa to gently guide it into his mouth before starting to suck away with gleeful abandon, pressing impossibly closer into the delicious embrace.

_Yes... yes... please..._

His second overload was neither as strong nor as piercing as the first one had been, but that was fine, really, for the pleasure was deeper this time, sweeter and more satisfying. Lazy surges of charge washed through his lines, and the return of the Unmaker himself could not have stopped the joyous cry that broke loose from Jazz' vocalizer. His lovers purred in counterpoint to his revving engine, lustful contentment being the dominant sensation to fill the link as they lapped up the sparking electricity in a rhythm and at a pace which could only be called voluptuous. The gentle drain was a constant, tingling pull in Jazz' systems that seemed to physically draw him closer to his partners in a desperate attempt to merge their frames in the same way their minds had already joined. A multitude of tentacles closed in to again wrap him into a tight cocoon, and they clung to each other as they rode the subsiding waves of bliss into a warm, peaceful afterglow.

xxx

They floated in each other's satiation, all sweet and golden and happy and blissfully tired. Somewhere far in the back of his processor, Jazz registered the faint smell of ozone and hot metal and the soft ticking of his cooling frame teasing his sensors while gentle zaps of excess energy sent shivers all over his body. Recharge was quickly becoming an appealing option; to just sink into warm darkness filled with the Morphobots' happiness, rest for a while, and then to reboot slowly to be greeted by more gentle pleasure and the touch of an affectionate mind...

But no... no, no, he couldn't. His friends were still out there, waiting for him and probably worried sick by now.

A stab of contrition jolted him back to full awareness, immediately followed by a flash of anger at himself. With their connection still in place, his thoughts had filtered through the link unhindered, and now the Morphobots were stirring in obvious distress, voicing a soft, unhappy coo. Jazz cursed himself for his carelessness as he quickly sent a combination of soothing algorithms over the link, but there was no sense in pretending, and he knew it.

"'M sorry, sweetsparks," he murmured, caressing the vinelet that was still resting in his port. "I can't stay with you, I need to go."

The answer was an immediate tightening of tentacles, and then a rush of stubbornness and negation so intense it made Jazz reel. Primus, the force... In most cases, not even a hardline connection like this one gave you unrestricted access to your partner's processor. There was always the occasional firewall, anti-spyware program or coded file indicating data which the mech or femme in question wished to retain for themselves. Here, however, he perceived nothing of the kind; if the Morphobots possessed anything akin to a data filter, they made no move to engage it. The transmission rate was one-to-one, so to speak.

And still, despite the harsh reaction, something about those alien creatures simply left Jazz unable to feel anxious or annoyed at them. He turned his head, nuzzling his faceplates against the closest tentacle. "I know, sweeties. I like you, too, very much. But my friends will be worried about me, you see? I can't just leave them; we're a team, a family. You understand that?"

A wild flurry of emotions streamed into his CPU at that, together with something new he couldn't quite grasp, something that resembled _memories_. There was a fleeting impression of a once thriving and now dying world, of a home and companions left behind, of cold space and fear of an uncertain future, all emphasized by a deep, profound longing.

Something exploded in Jazz' spark in that moment. It writhed and scathed, burning a fiery path through every line of programming right down into his most basic source codes, screaming at him to _protect/comfort/hold tight_. He gasped in shock, but before he could do anything, the Morphobots' fierce denial dissolved into a kind of sad resignation that seemed to say: Yes. We understand.

He should have been pleased with this development, Jazz knew, but the feeling eluded him. The fingers of his one hand, he realized, had stopped stroking and instead closed tightly around the connected tendril, while the others had intertwined with the nearest bundle of vinelets, unwilling to let go.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered. Primus, what a clichéd thing to say, but for the love of him, he couldn't think of anything else. "I'll take care of you. Me and my friends, we'll think of something to help you, I promise. All will be well, you'll see." He pushed a carefully-wrapped data package into the link to help convey the meaning of his words, hoping so much that the little guys would understand...

The next moment, he was lifted clean off his bed of alien plants with what seemed to be not the slightest effort at all. He couldn't hold in a soft "Whoa!" of surprise, marveling at the sheer strength of those tentacles. Holy Pit, they could snuff him with nothing more than a casual squeeze if they had a mind... But the tendrils held him safely while the plants beneath him moved aside, and then he was gently lowered onto the sandy ground and released. The claws still holding the wires in his hip joint let go, and one by one the single stalks loosened and withdrew until the only one remaining was the vinelet in his access port.

A last, strange impression washed through the link, a confusing mix of uncertainty and trust, and it pained Jazz that this should be the last thing he felt from his lovers. But the tiny claws had already disengaged and the connection broke, leaving nothing but a brief burst of static in his HUD. The click of the cover panel closing over the port sounded much too loud in the ensuing silence.

Jazz drew a deep, slow draught of air into his systems. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it, but his spark ached.

The Morphobots chittered softly and offered a steadying tentacle when he scrambled to his feet and wobbled slightly as his equilibrium sensors protested the sudden shift of position. The last tendrils lifted like a silvery curtain before his visor and provided him with a good view of both the valley and of his fellow Autobots.

They had formed a combat line, weapons leveled and ready to jump into action. Positioned squarely in the middle was Prowl, his back straight and door wings held high. Nobody moved as a couple of tense astroseconds ticked by.

Finally, not taking his optics off of the Morphobots, Prowl made a brief gesture towards both ends of the formation. Jazz sensed the buzz of comm. messages being passed, but didn't bother tuning in to the frequency. He could imagine what kind of orders their SIC was giving.

As expected, two of the 'Bots, Hound and Blaster, abandoned their positions in the line and began to approach from either side, guns charged and firmly trained on the alien plants at Jazz' back.

Not wanting to provoke any rash actions, Jazz held himself as still as possible, but he did raise both hands slowly, palms outward, to show that he was not bound or restrained in any way. "'S fine, guys," he called. "I'm alright."

Both mechs stopped in their tracks, exchanging a quick glance. "Man, you okay?" Blaster inquired. "We heard ya scream."

For the time being, Jazz decided to not react to that last comment. "Splendid," he said. "All's cool, mechs, they're friends. No need for violence." He didn't expect them to just drop their guns and jump into his arms, but it still seemed to him that they both unwound a little bit. Hound even gave him a small smile.

"Okay," he said. "So, let's get you outta here, alright?" He took a cautious half-step forward.

A soft rustling became audible as the Morpobots stirred slightly. Glancing over his shoulder strut, Jazz couldn't make out much more than a gently swaying, silvery mass, but the sensation of warm metal sliding against his plating didn't really surprise him. A medium-sized tentacle had crept forward silently and wrapped itself around his lower arm, not squeezing, just holding gently, while the clawed tip came to rest softly against his palm.

Hound's barely lowered weapon instantly jerked up again, closely followed by Blaster's electro-scrambler as they both fell back into attack positions. The air was suddenly filled with the whining sounds of charging guns, and the Morphobots reacted immediately by rearing up their tentacles with an ugly screech, dozens of maws swinging open to bare sharp, metallic teeth in a gesture of clear threat.

Two quick steps, guided by well-proven battle protocols, and Jazz had positioned himself firmly in front of Hound's gun muzzle, creating a physical barrier between the two adversaries. Arms spread, he leaned back against the wall of tentacles to enable as much body contact as possible while half-turning his faceplates into the tangled bulk.

"Hey, hey," he crooned, extending his field to encompass the closest tendrils while he simultaneously held Hound's wide-opticed gaze. "Don't take on so, all's well. They won't hurt you, and you won't hurt them, alright?"

Frankly, he didn't know in that moment to which of them he was talking, exactly. Still, he decided to take the low purr he got from the Morphobots as a Yes, and even felt a bit proud when the little guys settled down again surprisingly quick. They didn't let go of him, though, and he almost laughed when a second tendril snaked around his waist for what he could only guess was good measure.

A sputtering, indignant sound came out of Blaster's vocalizer. The communications officer was gesturing helplessly to and fro between them, obviously lost for words, a remarkable occurrence that would have been hilarious if only the situation had been less grave.

"What the _frag_, mech?!" he finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger at the Morphobots. His expression was stuck somewhere between anger and incredulity, and Jazz couldn't really blame him.

"Put the guns down, mechs," he said. "I can explain, but I need a bit of a more peaceful vibe here, you catch my drift?"

No such luck. Hound shook his head tersely. "Jazz, we have orders to -"

"Retrieve me. I get that. But the Jazz-man's only available in a twin pack today, guys, so you..."

He wanted to say more, but a crackle in his comm. system forestalled him. The message came on a general frequency so that all three of them could hear when a familiar voice said: _'Prowl to rescue team. Why is this taking so long?'_

'_I'm sorry, sir,'_ Hound responded, his optics nervously darting back and forth between his companions. _'There's a kind of... situation here, sir.'_

'_Is Jazz damaged?'_

'_No, he's not,'_ Jazz cut in, hot anger suddenly welling up inside him. Who did they think they were, talking about him as if he wasn't there? _'But he does have a Code White for you,_ sir_.'_

Silence. He met Hound's and Blaster's astonished gazes with a hard, unflinching glare.

'_Request confirmation. I received 'Code White'.'_

'_Confirmed,'_ Jazz spat into the line. _'Repeat: Code White confirmed.'_

Another silence followed, longer this time. Jazz felt a tension growing in his hydraulics that had not been there a klik ago. The Morphobots behind him chirped softly, and their embrace tightened a bit.

'_Prowl to task force. We have a confirmed Code White. Repeat: Code White has been confirmed. All hands, stand down and await further orders.'_

One by one, the Autobots began to lower their weapons. Some clearly did so with more hesitancy than others, but none of them refused the order.

Jazz sank a bit deeper into his charges' hold, making no effort to prevent the relief he felt from trickling into his field. He still wasn't sure if the Morphobots were capable of reading field actions, but it felt natural to him to communicate that way, and he reckoned that there was no harm in trying.

His attention returned to Hound and Blaster, who had not subspaced their guns yet, but stood more or less at ease now and eyed him with undisguised curiosity. "Man, that true?" the communications officer asked, jerking his head at the Morphobots. "These things are _refugees_?"

The addressed chittered softly, and Jazz nodded, dragging his thumb over the claws in his palm. "Yeah. Bitlets need somewhere to stay, and I promised they could room with us 'til we find them a place of their own."

"So they have a language?" Hound edged another step closer, his faceplates now shining with that eager fascination he held for every living creature he encountered for the first time. "How do you talk to them?"

"An interesting question, indeed," someone said.

Prowl approached them with slow, measured steps, his faceplates neutral and his field as stoically calm as ever. He carried no visible weapon, though Jazz knew better than to conclude that there was none. Both Hound's and Blaster's salutes were acknowledged with a perfunctory nod, then he turned and focused his attention on Jazz and his botanical charges, silent and waiting

A strange fit of rebelliousness seized Jazz out of nowhere, his jaws tightening subconsciously. Frag the formalities; if Prowl wanted to be a stuck-up slagger, bring it on!

But then he felt the movement of tiny claws in his hand, and the impulse faded as swiftly as it had come. His right arm still occupied, he had only his left hand for the salute, but it seemed to suffice. Prowl's gaze became a tad softer.

"Is an explanation for your actions forthcoming?"

There was neither reproach nor anger in his voice, nor any other discernable emotion. But even as he spoke, Jazz sensed a light, electric tingle against his plating, indicator of the comprehensive system scan Prowl was directing at him.

He became suddenly, painfully aware that he would not be able to hide what had happened from his friend, and not because he had to hand in a mission report which Prowl as his superior officer would read. They weren't lovers in the classical sense of the word, but over the millennia they had formed a close bond and had also shared a berth often enough for the tactician to identify the tell-tale signs of intimate contact. It had nothing to do with shame, either, for as far as Jazz was concerned, there was no shame in interfacing. But the thought of Prowl knowing about everything that had taken place between himself and the Morphobots made his spark hurt and felt wrong in a way he could neither explain nor understand.

He modulated his field frequency, gently yet decidedly blocking Prowl's scanner beams.

"Yes," he replied with as much composure as possible. "There is."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: This story really has become my baby. I very much enjoyed writing it, and I'm glad some of you in turn enjoyed the reading! No threesome in this one ;-), but I hope you like it anyway. Thanks again for reading and reviewing, especially - since I can't PM you - to Claire and deceptichick.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.

* * *

**Tangled**

**Part IV: Goodbye**

xxx

Prowl watched in silence as the rocket with the Morphobots on board soared up into the sky, accompanied by Cosmos who would guide the alien plants to the new home planet the Autobots had chosen for them. The roar of the engines quickly died away, and when the spacecraft vanished behind the clouds, Prowl couldn't deny the profound sense of relieve that settled upon him.

His optics darted over to Jazz who was standing next to Wheeljack and Skyfire, watching the rocket's takeoff together with the others. He looked a bit worried, Prowl thought. And a bit sad.

He frowned at the sight; not in disapproval, but in genuine confusion. He had spent the last ten Earth days analyzing his own memory files as well as the succinct report Jazz had handed in, and he still didn't understand it.

Jazz had been _raped_ by those creatures. He had been abducted and assaulted in the most disturbing way, and yet he explicitly spoke of the Morphobots as his friends. For the time of their stay on Earth, he had acted both as their protector and their spokesman, constantly mediating between his Autobot comrades and their unusual visitors, explaining to them Optimus Prime's suggestion to find a suitable planet for them to live on, and finally delivering the Morphobots' agreement to the plan. And all the while the strange alien plants strove to stay in physical contact with him, and be it only a tiny vinelet curled around Jazz' wrist.

But the most disturbing thing in Prowl's opinion was that the saboteur actually _allowed_ this. Prowl had seen with his own optics how his friend granted the Morphobots access to his systems on an almost regular basis, how he even allowed them to feed directly from his lines on occasion. And while it was logical to Prowl why the Morphobots would be eager for these connections, it was a mystery to him why Jazz agreed to this, or why his friend's cooling fans always sped up a bit during these feedings.

His thoughts were interrupted by a quick message from Cosmos, informing them that the rocket had left Earth's atmosphere and entered space without any problems. Wheeljack and Skyfire actually gave each other a high five, which was answered by their companions with good-humored laughs. The small group willingly transformed into alt-mode at Optimus Prime's command and fell into formation behind their leader, setting off into the direction of the Ark.

Prowl took his usual place on his commander's left, but soon found that he couldn't stop his sensors from wandering, trying to catch a glimpse of Jazz who he knew was driving at Optimus' other side. The volcano came into view sooner than he would have liked, and in an uncharacteristic show of spontaneity Prowl decided that this was as good an opportunity as any. He opened a comm link on his leader's standard frequency.

_'Permission to talk to Commander Jazz for a moment, sir.'_

A short, surprised silence filled the link when Prime didn't answer immediately, but Prowl felt his commander's sensors brush over him briefly, and he was pretty sure that he knew Optimus' thoughts.

_'Permission granted,'_ came the response, and it sounded almost a bit _too_ understanding.

He refused to let his processor linger on this and instead accelerated, pulling past his commander and settling himself squarely in Jazz' lane.

The saboteur immediately slowed down, and so did Prowl, musing that if he wanted to have a proper conversation with his friend, it might be good to not, as the humans put it, go like a bull at a gate. As easy-going as Jazz might be, this _was_ a sensitive topic.

So, instead of transmitting a comm message, he employed the small electric sign in his rear window that read: 'Please follow' in bright-red letters, knowing that Jazz would surely laugh at this. He gave his friend some astroseconds to adjust to the new situation, then flashed his right indicator and turned off the road. And Jazz dutifully followed.

Prowl led them some miles into the desert to a small plateau lying somewhat hidden on the western foothills of a mountain range. It wasn't really private in the sense of the word, but offered enough shelter to make sure they'd be undisturbed. He killed his engine and transformed back into bipedal mode as soon as Jazz caught up with him. His friend followed suit, gracefully rising to his feet, and just as Prowl had hoped, he was grinning from one audio receptor to the other.

"What's wrong, officer?" he asked in mock concern. "Was I being too fast?"

Prowl felt his faceplates twitch as he fought a smile. "Now don't you play dumb with me, mister," he deadpanned. "I want to see your driver's license and your car documents, and quickly, if you please."

Jazz nudged his shoulder laughingly as they took a few steps forward to stand at the plateau's edge. With the setting sun on the horizon, the vista was stunning.

"I just wanted to ask," Prowl said gently after a moment, "how you are doing."

A soft laugh escaped Jazz' vocalizer as he turned to him. "No, really?" he teased, but didn't give Prowl a chance to react. "I'm okay, buddy, really," he said. "No need to fuss."

"And yet you have been remarkably quiet today," Prowl pointed out, not taking his optics off the saboteur's faceplates. Jazz' smile wavered just a little bit.

"Okay, I... I guess I'm a tad worried 'bout the little guys." He turned his head and looked up at the sky. "I mean, I know Cosmos is with them and all, but it's still an awfully long trip, ain't it?"

Prowl regarded him wordlessly. There it was again, that strange care and affection in Jazz' voice he simply couldn't make sense of. However, he stoically ignored his logic processor telling him that the information received was insufficient, and instead set out to retrieve the missing data.

"I don't understand," he said, firmly, but not without kindness. "I don't understand why you are so concerned about those creatures. They... they _forced_ themselves on you, Jazz." It hurt to speak the words aloud, more than he had expected, but he refused to let that stop him. "They forced you to interface with them, and yet you worry about their well-being and call them your friends. It makes no sense."

He wanted to say more, but Jazz had started to shake his head at 'forced themselves on you', and when he interrupted now, there was an almost desperate urgency in his voice.

"No; no, no, no, Prowl, it wasn't like that! They never forced me. That's what I've been trying to explain to Prime and Ratchet, too. I get it why you'd think so, but that's not what happened."

"What did happen, then?" Prowl asked. "You are my friend, Jazz. Your safety and happiness are of great importance to me, but I cannot assure either of those if I do not have all the facts." Simple honesty, he knew, was always the best strategy when talking to the saboteur - as contradictory as this sounded.

For a long moment, Jazz simply gazed at him thoughtfully as if contemplating his answer.

"They were desperate, Prowl," he said finally. "They were starving. The only reason they attacked me was because they needed a source of energy to feed from."

"You wrote this in your report," Prowl answered, nodding. "And I remember you mentioning it in the valley as well. You also said you were sure the Morphobots never had any intention to harm you - or any of us."

"Well, they could have, you know. If the little guys had really had a mind to disassemble me, there wouldn't have been much for me to do about it."

He spoke so matter-of-factly Prowl couldn't help but feel a shudder slipping down his backstruts. Since his friend was standing right in front of him, it was clear that this scenario had never taken place, but the mere thought of it was disturbing. He felt his doorwings flutter slightly in response to the mental image.

Obviously Jazz had noticed the small movement, because he took a step closer and laid a gentle hand on Prowl's arm.

"I know how weird that sounds," he said softly. "And you're right, there were a few kliks that day when I was frightened all the way to the Pit and back, but then... I don't know how, but... somehow I realized that they were trying to _talk_ to me, Prowl. Can you imagine that? They were struggling for bare survival, and yet they tried to communicate, to make me understand so there wouldn't be a need for violence." His deep blue gaze sought Prowl's optics and held them fast. "How could I not have helped them?" he asked quietly.

To his own surprise, and unlike many other aspects of this confusing event, this part of the story actually made sense to Prowl. Leave all those bizarre circumstances aside, and Jazz had basically acted according to standard protocol: He had received an SOS and had answered to it the best way he'd been able to.

"You acted like a true Autobot, and a mech of honor," he acknowledged. "I would not have expected otherwise from you. But that still doesn't explain your obvious... attachment to those beings."

A mischievous grin suddenly flashed across Jazz' faceplates. "Sweet-talking won't get you anywhere, man," he joked. Prowl allowed his lips to curl ever so slightly at this.

"Well, analyzing situations is my primary function, you know."

Jazz laughed heartily, and all of a sudden Prowl felt a deep relief wash over his spark that, despite the seriousness of the circumstances, his friend still felt comfortable enough with him to laugh and tease like this.

"I wish I had an easy answer for you, Prowl," Jazz said eventually, "but I don't. All I can say is that I _wanted_ to help them. I mean, think about it: A species on the verge of extinction, leaving their home in a desperate search for a chance to survive, all alone on an alien planet far away from everything they've ever known..." His smile took on a hint of bitterness. "Sound familiar to you?"

So far, Prowl's focus had been primarily on Jazz and the thoughts and emotions his friend might have had when it came to the Morphobots, and not so much on the Morphobots themselves. Perhaps this had been the error in his analysis, he thought wryly as he took some time to let the information sink in, to let his logic center interlink it with the data sets already present.

"You... sensed a connection of the mind," he said slowly. "You established an emotional bond because the similarity of your experiences enabled you to sympathize with them."

Jazz seemed to ponder this for a moment before he nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. You see, when I made the CPU connection, I got a quick glimpse at some memories of theirs, and there was so much... innocence there."

It clearly wasn't the word he'd been looking for, so Prowl refrained from any comments about the popular definition of 'innocence'. The irony of the expression wasn't lost on Jazz, either.

"Sounds stupid, I know, but it's true, Prowl. They were missing their home and their family so much... You remember what Cosmos said about these guys being the youngest generation of their kind? That's exactly what their minds were like. I guess they inherited some shared memories and knowledge from their genitors, but apart from that, they pretty much had nothing but their own instincts and feelings to rely on. In a way, it was like dealing with a lost sparkling."

Something in Prowl's CPU seemed to prick its proverbial ears at this.

"I got the feeling," Jazz concluded, "that what they were really starving for wasn't energy, but someone to offer them protection and comfort. Some kind of caretaker."

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place then, and as with every puzzle solved, Prowl wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner. It made sense. The Morphobots had initially turned to Jazz out of a desperate need for nourishment, but when he had responded with that loving, warm attention of his, they had come to regard him as an attachment figure. That would definitely explain their constant, almost jealous efforts to be close to him and to even physically connect with him. They didn't consider the interfaces an act of mating, but rather an expression and strengthening of an emotional bond - which, of course, it was.

And this, in consequence, would also elucidate Jazz' willingness to allow these bondings. Prowl knew from experience that his friend was a very physical mech, and not just where his romantic relationships were concerned. A friendly slap on the shoulder, a firm hug, a quick, gentle backrub for encouragement - the saboteur happily shared a wide variety of playful, affectionate touches with all of his comrades, given that the mech in question consented to being touched. For Jazz, physical intimacy, even such close contact as interfacing, wasn't necessarily sexual in itself, but rather a way to express his feelings and to assure his partner of his care and affection. It was only logical to assume that he would act up to this principle with the alien plants as well. It might even be possible, Prowl mused, that the Morphobots' sparkling-like attitude had triggered some of Jazz' parental subroutines, which would of course result in a strong protective instinct. Perhaps it would be wise to have Ratchet check on this...

"You think I'm a soft-sparked fool, don't you?" Jazz stated.

There was a hint of defiance in his voice that caught Prowl off-guard. He looked up in surprise and suddenly realized that he had been completely lost in his thoughts, and hadn't spoken for quite some time now. Obviously his friend was misinterpreting his prolonged silence as some kind of reprimand. He shook his head.

"You know very well that I do not consider you a fool, neither soft-sparked nor anything else," he replied firmly. Jazz regarded him warily, but did not respond.

"I think," Prowl said, carefully measuring each word, "that your ability to sympathize so deeply with any living being is one of your most valuable traits. But I also think that some relationships... are just not meant to be."

The last daylight had long since faded, and the clear sky above them was twinkling with stars. Prowl wondered briefly if Cosmos and his unusual passengers were alright...

"Listen," he said, and tried to make his voice sound as gentle as possible. "I'm not going to pretend that I understand all of this. But if you need anything... no matter what... then you know where to find me."

It sounded stupid and clichéd and utterly insufficient given the issue at hand, but at the same time he was painfully aware that he really _couldn't_ do much more than this: to offer his friendship, and his presence.

And perhaps that wasn't so insufficient after all, for Jazz gave him a smile in reply. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

And then, for no specific reason, his smile suddenly turned into a grin. "Hey, you think my commanding officer would mind if I skip reporting in and instead take you for a night drive?"

Prowl forced a neutral expression onto his faceplates. He knew the saboteur well enough to understand the unspoken request. A quick check of his chronometer told him that they would be officially off duty in less than a breem anyway, and Prime had already given them permission for some private time...

"Well, as far as I can tell," he answered, "your commanding officer is a sensible mech who is aware that there is a time for everything - even for night drives."

It felt strangely good to hear Jazz' laugh, he thought, and the next moment his friend had jumped into alt mode and was racing down the way they had come at a speed that could only be called obscene. Prowl wasn't exactly slow on his wheels himself, but he actually had to struggle a bit to catch up with him.

_'That reminds me,'_ he said dryly over his comm link. _'I think I was about to revoke your driver's license, wasn't I?'_

_'In your dreams, buddy,'_ Jazz replied laughingly, and then he accelerated even more, and Prowl followed suit. He wasn't a speed junkie, but if straining their engines a bit in the cool vastness of the nightly desert, just the two of them, was what Jazz needed right now, than he would be happy to comply.

After all, Prowl was known for keeping his promises.

xxx

A small part of their shared mind was awake and alert, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings.

It was just a habit, really, for since their journey had begun, nothing had happened that deserved much attention. The green and yellow mech accompanying them - Cosmos, they remembered - would frequently inquire about their status, or give some information on their journey's progress, but that was pretty much all the interruption they got. So the better part of their conscience had slipped off into a light doze, lulled by the constant, gentle rumbling of the engines and the never-changing sight of the stars flying by the tiny window. It was an effective way, they'd found, to keep the nervousness in check.

They had _wanted_ to leave the planet Earth. It wasn't a world where they could have survived in the long run, and apart from that, it was already too densely populated for their liking. They needed a place of their own, like their old home had been, where they could exist and bring forth the next generation of their kind in peace. When the Autobots, as they called themselves, offered to help them find such a place, they had readily agreed, and they did not regret that decision.

However, that did not mean that the prospect of again facing the unknown all by themselves didn't frighten them.

They huddled a bit closer together and willed their drifting thoughts away from what lay ahead. There was still time to afford such luxury, and right now, they'd rather reminisce about more enjoyable things... black and white things, to be exact...

His designation was Jazz. They had heard the other robots call him that, and he had also told them so himself during one of their bondings. They themselves had no designation they could share, but Jazz didn't seem to mind. He called them 'sweetsparks'.

And he'd been such a wonderful companion. True to his word, he convinced his fellow robots to help them find a new home, and during their stay on Earth he saw to it that they were provided with everything they needed, and helped them communicate with the other mechs as well.

But the most precious memories were those of their bondings. Jazz allowed the connections frequently and willingly, offered them his own energy reserves to feed from if they wanted to, and each time returned their shy, tentative caresses with unreserved tenderness. And never had they felt anything but deep, loving care from him. Really, they couldn't have wished for a better companion.

The night before they had left the planet in the new spacecraft built for them, Jazz had come to say goodbye, and they could tell that the thought was weighing heavily on him. They wrapped him in a tight embrace, and he opened his ports for them, and their bonding was sweet and gentle and a little bit sad. They didn't let go of him for a long while, and he clearly wasn't eager to change that. However, it seemed that their anxiety had been tangible through the connection, because he tried to soothe them.

"You'll be okay, you know," he said. "You're some tough little guys, you're gonna make it."

Even if he hadn't emphasized his words by sending the appropriate emotions over the bond, they were sure that they would have understood. For a moment, they simply rested and basked in his warm reassurance.

Yes, they answered silently. We will.

They'd very much liked then to take him with them. To have him stay at their side, to just be with them and take care of them - and, when the time came, of their offspring, too. But they knew quite well that such a thing could not be. Jazz belonged on this planet Earth, and it wouldn't be right to deprive him of the home and the family he so obviously cherished.

Instead, the memories of their time together were now deeply engrained into their shared minds, to be called upon whenever they wanted or needed to remember. And one day, they would pass these memories on to their progeny, and those would in turn pass them on to theirs, and so forth. Of course, over time, the memories would be overlaid by others, as each generation added its own experiences to the mental heritage. But as long as their species existed, Jazz and his friends and what they had done for them would not be forgotten.

This, they thought, was surely the least you could do for someone who had just ensured the survival of an entire race.

***Fin***


End file.
